


Hermit

by Transistance



Series: Butterflies [4]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Abandonment, Butterflies, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7447231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transistance/pseuds/Transistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grell watches butterflies in order to take her mind away from someone who's no longer there for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hermit

Grell is not overly keen on the park, green as it is for the most part – but in late spring it is full of flowers, and those attract the butterflies.

They're strange creatures; translucent and pale as though wearing the ghosts of scarlet, sapphire, gold, and she's never quite certain whether they're lost souls or mere figments of the realm. How could an insect off itself? Fly willingly into a spider's web; batter itself to death against a glass pane? But in spite of the fact that they're colourless, there's something about the erratic but easily sure patterns of their flight that calms her, makes her own life seem linear and controlled.

The man that she loves is gone.

She'd been all caught up with the brimstone creature and his small blue ward, so busy playing tortoiseshell alongside her own painted lady that she'd forgotten the plain wall brown that had been left behind. It was an easy thing to do; he'd always been there. Camouflaged in the background, there when she wanted him and forgotten when she didn't. She hadn't needed him when she had had Red. Whether he'd needed her she doesn't know, because she did a poor job of seeing him – or anyone else – whilst caught up in the mortal affairs; her reverence for Anne; the suasion toward sustaining herself on bloodlust instead of affection, for a time. Because William had been boring and Angelina had been _fascinating_ , and he has never quite understood her gender or her clawing, keening wish to bear children – accepted it without question, yes, been kind and done his best to help her, yes... but they've never talked about it. Grell supposes that they never will. It's one of the few ghosts shadowing her mind that he can never, ever fathom, and has never attempted to. It's a loose scale amongst an otherwise perfect mosaic, and if a problem shared is a problem halved then a problem left to rot becomes insurmountable. And Angelina had... _almost_ understood. Now she has neither of them to lean on. Anne is dead and William hates her.

She finds him now suddenly capable of immense cruelty, far more potent than anything she had expected. That there would be consequences to her stint as the Ripper she'd always been aware, but from William she had foreseen – silence, mostly. Disappointment that she had found something more rewarding than paperwork or his company, but a clandestine seed of understanding – or at least an attempt to do so – that would stitch them together again. Instead there is... _this_.

Grell hears him misgender her in passing more than once; something that he hasn't done since before she came out. She hears him refer to her as a “ _thing_ ”, a nuisance, a pest. She hears him damn her name repeatedly to any and all who will listen.

Of course, she understands it. She understands that he wants to distance himself, ensure that people _know_ that he didn't condone her actions – it would be easier for both of them to pretend that they've never been close. But he has no reason to be so harsh – none! His words are angry, bitter, despairing things, and that's acceptable. His violence is unforgiving.

As though the Ripper incident has burst a dam – as though he has repressed aggression through the decades that she's known him, boxed it away like a springtrap – he _won't stop_ hitting her. Sometimes it's just smacks, or warning clips of his scythe, but others are quite clearly aimed to hurt. Sometimes he leaves bruises that last days; others the marks of his shoes don't quite wash out of her clothes. If he feels remorse for these attacks he doesn't show it – indeed sometimes he seems to gain some satisfaction from seeing her hurt. But worse, far worse, is his sudden isolation, his complete detachment. It adorns him like a wreath; he withdraws into himself, becoming frigid and blunt with everyone. Eric asks her about it exactly once, and she has no idea what to say. Eric also points out that, excepting her, he's coldest with Ronnie – damning him for association alone. 

It should be easy to say that she's lived through worse, because this is just another breakup, because the hostility of one man should mean nothing in comparison to the memory of Angelina's wide, betrayed eyes, or the accusations from all sides; the mockery and aversion present in people that she had called friends before she'd made herself a murderer. It should be easy – but for the fact that there has always been someone at her side through each incident, a reassuring and wholly biased friend to rant at and and be comforted by. Now he's the problem, and she has nobody to talk to. Angelina is dead, and that's still sore. Alan is horrified by her savagery and Eric keeps his distance (she assumes at the time that this is due to Alan's sensibilities; only later realises that it is to ensure that nobody connects the dots fast enough to stop him when he too turns to murder). Ronnie is easy and relaxed around her, the only one who still manages that, but gets good at derailing conversations. The men of the department scorn her and Grell finds herself unable to look at the women's faces (because they resemble those of whores closely enough that she can practically taste their blood, a vile revelation that makes her sick). In the end she finds herself turning to _Sebastian_ , the demon, because he's tall and dark-haired and scornful and it's fun to wind him up. His violence is a nice mirror to match Will's, and she isn't pulled up for skipping hours to flit around him. She has no idea whether this means that William doesn't want to cause a fuss or if he simply wants to watch her destroy herself anew.

She misses having his hands in her hair; his lips on her skin. She misses the softness in his voice and the care in his actions and the affection in his eyes. She misses everything. Watching the butterflies doesn't really help, but she must do _something_ to fill this sudden ugly glut of empty time that the universe has bestowed upon her.

And then the incident on the Campania happens.

On one hand, it's the most fun she's had in years. There's a horde of bloodthirsty undead that she's _encouraged_ to slice up, rendering her new scythe the most useful addition to anyone's arsenal that reapers have had for decades, and she gets the chance to flirt _and_ fight with Sebastian, and discovers that the enigmatic old madman from before is far more interesting than he had seemed. She gets to work with Ronnie, who is young, capable and appreciates her company, and nobody cares who she has been or what she has done. She's doing what she loves, where she's supposed to be.

On the other hand she is cut open, fails to protect her junior and looses the second highest batch of souls in recent history. Then she gets dumped into the sea.

It's cold and awful and for a moment she feels herself actually shut down, the shock of the cold stealing the breath from her. Not that she needs to breathe. But then – unexpectedly – something catches her by the coat and hauls her up, and with strength to do that her rescuer is not human. Grell sort of assumes that it's Ronald, presumably having flirted his way onto some lifeboat, until someone kicks her hard in the face.

It's _William_.

This is amazing, and startles all rationality from her. _Will_ is here, Will who hates boats and fieldwork and mortals and _her_ , so she takes the only logical course of action and throws herself at him, and he lets her crash back into the water. 

Grell surfaces spluttering, and once William has hauled her back into the boat she teases him exactly as she used to, allowing herself to pretend that they're just how they were before – and when he ignores her completely she feels herself plummet. It's not the barely submerged anger in his tone, not the disgust in his eyes – it's the way he's looking right through her, as though she's barely there, as though she's about as important as a mortal whose soul he's come to take. 

William doesn't even realise that they're injured until they've been rowing for a good few hours – but when he does, he acts immediately. He lifts Ronald, careful to avoid his injuries, and portals away. Grell is left alone.

The waves lap against the boat. The smog coils about her, casting monsters in the gloom. She's too far out – and Will never has been particularly strong. He will not have the energy to make a return trip, let alone bring her back with him.

For a time Grell just drifts, half-conscious and blind, until something nudges against the boat and someone steps in front of her. She has no idea how he found her – the hermit, the reason she's in this mess – and equally doesn't know what he wants, so she tries weakly to shield herself from him.

“Are you alone, m'dear? Did your concerned colleagues cast you adrift, hm? How unfortunate. Here was me thinking that birds of a feather ought to look out for one another.” His hair tickles her face – which means that he's far too close – and then he hoists her up sharply, carrying her over his shoulder in a way that makes her gasp because all the pressure in her body is leaning on the gash in her front.

Mercifully it doesn't last long. She feels him jump, and then he sets her down on some hard surface and is gone.

The man who finds her on the ground outside the front of the dispatch is not Will, and the kind hands and voices that escort her to Medical are not Will, and the people that visit her are not Will. She doesn't see him at all, and wonders if something has befallen him. A nurse tells her that he has been all tied up in paperwork, and hasn't been finding the time to leave his office much at all, to her knowledge. The nurse says this as though it's her definition of complete normality.

Grell recovers more quickly than Ronald, scarred but not particularly damaged, and decides that enough is enough.


End file.
